


So Love Me Now

by TheSushiMonster



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 12:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11208009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: "Rosaline understands that words are falling out of her mouth, that emotions swirl and race past her in quick succession, a mess of flashes of colors and feelings. She understands that she likely makes no sense. But the vision of him - shaken and beaten, his Uncle standing above with face of rage and fist tinted in Benvolio’s blood - shakes her."Benvolio comes home injured. Rosaline is not okay with that.





	So Love Me Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllisonSwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllisonSwan/gifts).



> Maii: YOU ARE WONDERFUL. Thank you for letting me yell in DMs about fic and writing and this stupid ship.
> 
> Prompts: "I'm sorry. I can't even tell you how sorry I am." &  “you make me happy.” & a post on tumblr: "My favorite trope is when two characters are in love and neither has admitted their feelings to each other yet, and then The One That’s Not In Denial™ gets hurt and The One That Is In Denial™ starts freaking out and suddenly is not in denial anymore."
> 
> NSFW! Sexual content.

“I’m sorry.” Her thumb runs over his cheek, just beneath the bruise surrounding his eyes. Her heart won’t still, the bubbling in her stomach mixed between panic and relief. “I can’t even tell you how sorry I am.”

Benvolio shakes his head, gently, not enough to irritate his injuries - and that’s when he winces as her finger brushes up against the bump on the back of his head. “It’s not your fault,” he says roughly, throat caught. “I deserved this - I shouldn’t have - “

“You deserve much better than this, my lord. It’s my fault he got so angry.” She maneuvers him to sit on the bed before taking a seat beside him. The red of his blood mirrors her vision. “I hate him.”

His lips tug slightly upwards. “Rosaline - “

“No,” she interrupts, hands still dancing over his skin, as if she could fix him only by touch, “I _hate him_  - I would fight him if I could, if he was not _family_  now - he should be locked away or _something_  - “

“Rosaline,” says Benvolio again, his hands now joined with hers. “It’s okay.”

Rosaline understands that words are falling out of her mouth, that emotions swirl and race past her in quick succession, a mess of flashes of colors and _feelings._ She understands that she likely makes no sense. But the vision of him - shaken and beaten, his Uncle standing above with face of rage and fist tinted in Benvolio’s blood - shakes her. There’s no calm when all she sees is Benvolio, hurt, yet - _fighting_ , unfazed - _as if this is common_ -

“No, Benvolio, it is not. It is not okay that you have had to suffer this way. As your wife - ” the word stutters off her lips, but she continues, intertwining her fingers with his, resting them in her lap. Squeezing and caressing his palms, Rosaline cannot look him in the eyes, so she gazes at his neck. “I can understand harsh words - I have endured verbal beatings - but _physical_  - “ She shakes her head, still imagining Benvolio on the floor, stomach kicked in, eyes both resigned and furious. When he swallows, she feels her own throat grow dry. “This is not the first time.” 

It is a statement, not a question, and Benvolio sighs. He shakes his head. “No.”

Red. Fire rising in her veins - “For how long?”

Benvolio shifts on the bed and Rosaline finally looks at his face. He’s frowning, but he looks straight at her. “I don’t remember a time where my Uncle did not hate me.”

Rosaline hugs him. She doesn’t know what else to do - what other words could possibly convey how much her heart aches with him, how much she wants this embrace to take away all his pain, how much she wants him to understand that _she_ doesn’t hate him - 

Benvolio wraps his arms around her waist, tugging her just a bit tighter. Even squished against him, Rosaline thinks they both breathe easier. She knows that when she slowly moves back, to search his face, his face is calmer, a little less sad, a little more alive - and Rosaline finds his breath mixed with hers, his lips inches away, his eyes less resigned and more hopeful.

Rosaline kisses him.

The moment she touches his lips, she realizes why the sensation of being in Benvolio’s arms comforts her, why she is so _angry_ , why the sight of Benvolio’s heartbreak aches her too - because when they kiss, Rosaline feels her heart burst and grow at the same time, she feels his hands anchoring her, she feels like everything suddenly _makes sense._

She loves him.

Rosaline finds her hands slipping under his clothes, unbuttoning his blouse, yearning to feel his skin. His mouth slips from her lips, kissing down her neck and she moans. _She loves him_. Grinning, she kisses his ear. She's known for a while now that Benvolio's feelings for her had turned towards romantic, even as her own uncertainties plagued her - but to have him hold her,  _kiss her_ \- validation of her suspicions feels particularly rewarding.

Suddenly, Benvolio stops, pulling away just slightly - she’s still in his lap and he still embraces her, but he frowns. “What - is this - are _you_  - “

“The thought of you - hurt - “ She shakes her head. “You make me happy,” she says simply, because her heart races and she can’t stop grinning. Leaning her forehead against his, she listens to his heavy breathing match her own. “I am sure.”

This time, Benvolio kisses her, with more teeth and passion, his fingers skimming over the ties of her dress. Rosaline strips him so that her hands can caress his chest, her thumbs outlining the skin over his ribs. He kisses her shoulders and Rosaline lets him as her dress falls away, skirts tossed to the floor. Left in her undergarments, she tugs on his trousers, which he stands to remove - never looking away from her.

Her throat closes. Her stomach flutters, nervousness and excitement in equal measures, but his hand reaches out to hold her face as he stands before her completely naked. Closing her eyes, she feels him caress her cheek - so gentle, so soft - so unlike his Uncle. When she looks up at him, he glows in the setting sun. Then, they remove her remaining clothes together.

Benvolio stops, staring. “Rosaline - my beloved - “

Hand looped around his neck, she pulls him to her, kissing him soundly. His groans feed her, and her leg hooks around his and she falls onto her back onto the bed. Kissing along her shoulders and down her chest, Benvolio explores her skin and Rosaline gently plays with his hair. He keeps kissing, down her stomach - until he reaches where the warmth pools together, where his kisses make her back arch, where his tongue dips into her and she grasps the edge of the bed in shock. 

Rosaline understands that there is a difference in their levels of experience - but she also understands that Benvolio, when he stops and peers at her - between her legs - will take care of her. So at his frown and raised eyebrows, she groans. “Please, Ben - “ And his face breaks out into a smirk before he continues.

At first it tickles, his scruff scratching at her inner thighs. But his fingers stroke her gently and Rosaline feels warmer, calmer. Fire builds in her stomach and when he enters her with his calloused fingers - she thrusts to meet him, to have more of him, and he obliges, slowly, with another finger. His tongue continues to twist and flick over her and she doesn’t know the exact moment she shatters, only that she does, with Benvolio whispering, his mouth and fingers coaxing her and holding her.

When it becomes too much, she shoves him with her knee and he rests his head against her thigh. The wetness cover his mouth and nose glistens and Rosaline finds another rush of warmth overtake her. Tugging on his head, she pulls him up and Benvolio lays some of his weight on her, chest to chest. Her hand slides to hover over his heart.

“Benvolio - “ The words hover between her lips, but he catches them, in his own mouth, swallows them with his kisses and tongue, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip and his hand holding her face. Rosaline breathes her soul out and his in, nails digging into his shoulder and his knee pushing hers apart. 

Rosaline knows what comes next. Benvolio does too - he looks at her, the same one from before - _are you sure this is what you want?_

She smiles. “You make me happy,” she says again. She kisses his cheek, his jaw, his ear. “Yes, I want you.”

And he enters her, slowly, and it hurts. But he whispers into her ear - _you are beautiful, relax, I want you to feel good, you make me happy too_ \- and soon Rosaline moves with him. 

Their pace is slow, indulgent, and Rosaline savors every movement, every inch of him, every kiss that lingers on her skin. But soon it’s too much and not enough, and the thrusts quicken, the slaps of skin echoing in their bed chambers. But Rosaline doesn’t look away from him, on his face squinting back at her; his hand squeezes hers and she squeezes back. His other hand slips between them, and while Rosaline enjoys the sensation of him inside of her, _this_  - his fingers rubbing gentle, then rough, circles over her - this is exhilarating. 

She melts and burns again several times over, the halo around his head bursting and flaring between her eyes, and when she finally catches her breath, Rosaline feels him let go. His thrusts are sporadic and hard, and when a final grunt leaves his lips - he laughs.

She laughs with him, fingers curling around the hair slipping onto his sweaty forehead. “Good?” she asks, only a hint of a crack in her voice.

Benvolio slides off her, resting on his side, and pulls her leg back over his hip. She can feel his grin as he kisses her neck. “Breathtaking.”

And this time, when Rosaline kisses him on the mouth, she whispers: “I love you.”


End file.
